


Countdown

by Master_of_the_Rebels



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9273344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Master_of_the_Rebels/pseuds/Master_of_the_Rebels
Summary: Jason has some thoughts on his boyfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr for the August JayTim Week Prompt "Suit & Tie".

Tim is too clever, Jason thinks, eyes relaxed and curious as he watches the young man move about his - their - kitchen. Like he’s been there for his entire life, not just a few months… Jason’s head tilts unconsciously as he tries, not for the first time, to pinpoint how long exactly Tim has been here. At what point in time could it be said that Tim was actually living with Jason, not just dropping in at a growing rate of frequency? To be honest, by the time Jason realized they were cohabiting, he didn’t even really care enough about the unforeseen loss of personal space to bring it up.

For someone seemingly so inclined to be a lone wolf, Tim had a startling knack for insinuating himself into other people’s lives, to the point that it would take a heavy dose of novocaine to numb yourself for the removal, and probably an uncountable amount of time in therapy trying to determine when you’d managed to develop a Tim-sized hole that couldn’t be filled by anything other than the real thing.

Jason gives up, yet again, on figuring out when Tim’s unannounced visits simply became his new roommate coming home, and groans in unison with his stomach’s happy growl as Tim sets a cooking pan of baked mostaccioli on a trivet in the middle of the table. One thing he is certain of is that he’s never eaten better than when Tim started making real meals.

Tim is halfway to forking a massive bite of pasta into his mouth when he looks up at Jason’s silly grin. Eyes narrowing, he mutters, “What are you looking so pleased with?” before shoving the waiting food in his mouth.

“I love you.” Jason finds it funny that Tim’s only reaction is to snort and keep eating, obviously well aware he’s referring to the pasta and not Tim.

The other interpretation is, well, that’ll be a conversation down the line most likely, but Jason is pretty sure they’re not quite there just yet.

“Just eat,” Tim instructs with a bland tone, muffled through his mouthful of carbs and sauce. Another entertaining discovery for Jason: Tim’s lack of manners in a private setting. “We don’t have a lot of time to get ready.” They’re going to yet another Wayne gala tonight; this time it’s to support the African children’s AIDS effort, so Jason isn’t going to bitch about it because it’s a good cause.

Jason volunteers to wash the dishes once they’ve both plowed through heaping second helpings (leftovers are a rarity of unicorn-proportions in their fridge), though they both know it’s less volunteer, more obligation. Unspoken Rule #4 of the Todd-Drake household: He who ate but did not cook, must therefore wash. Before Tim, dishes piled up and Jason didn’t care, he washed only what he needed and sometimes not even then. But Tim is particular about certain things, hence the induction of Unspoken Rule #4.5: Wash dishes the day they’re used or suffer the wrath of Tim’s overwhelming cold shoulder. Jason was shunned for a solid three days when he tried to defy that rule. Never again.

With the dishes clean (and also put away with passive aggressive protest in the form of forceful clanging), Jason makes his way into the shared bathroom, reaching around Tim for his toothbrush, then stepping back out of the way to observe Tim prep.

Jason can’t deny that half the reason he even goes to these functions is so he can see Tim get ready. It’s not that Tim looks particularly fantastic in a suit (99% of the human population looks significantly better when fancy clothes are involved, and Tim is no exception to the rule), nor does Jason have any sort of fetish where a three-piece is concerned; but watching Tim’s methodical way of preparing himself has the equivalent calming effect of counting backwards from 100 when you’re angry. And Jason is often angry, sometimes for reasons he can’t even explain.

It’s gotten better since Tim came around, though.

Jason slows the brush on a stroke over his molars to focus on the way Tim applies a minimal amount of aftershave with sweeping caresses across his chin and jawline.

99…

Jason took too long washing today, because he’s missed out on watching Tim shave away the five o’clock shadow he’d been sporting earlier. It’s probably for the best though, Jason acknowledges. Something about seeing Tim drag sharp objects across his skin, the tilt of his head and the way Tim’s mouth parts open just-so as he watches his own careful movements in the mirror, always tends to get Jason a bit hot and bothered, and that almost always leads to them being late for just about everything.

Tim knows this, and Jason can see they’re both thinking the same thing when their eyes meet briefly in the reflection and hold. Jason’s lips quirk awkwardly around the toothbrush shaft and Tim rolls his eyes, because yes, Tim will always fall into Jason’s pace, enjoys it even, and it’s clear that he purposely shaved before Jason was done in the kitchen to avoid that exact thing.

The eye contact breaks and Jason’s brushing continues. He shifts forward, and Tim moves away from the counter to allow Jason to spit the mouthful of foam into the sink and rinse. Jason gazes at his own face now, feels the coarse bite of two days’ worth of stubble against the back of his hand as he rubs away water, and considers whether he’s feeling patient enough to get rid of it all.

“Keep it.” Jason glances over at Tim, who is giving him the same appraising look he’d been giving himself.

“Yeah?” Jason looks back toward the mirror and watches Tim’s hand stretch out to scratch blunt fingers over Jason’s cheek, nails catching slightly on short hairs, before coming to rest a palm along the side of his neck.

“Yeah. Rugged suits you.” Tim draws back and begins to rummage in the drawer to unearth a few hair products, only used for special occasions.

Jason props a hip against the countertop and smirks at Tim, eyes still following every move the younger man makes. “You saying I’m unrefined?”

Tim slides his fingers together, spreading a small scoop of pomade evenly before massaging it meticulously into his roots.

82…

“Well, I’m not denying that you have a bit of a mountain man vibe going sometimes.”

Jason’s smirk strengthens and he leans into Tim’s space to murmur, “I think you just like how it feels when I-”

“Don’t even start,” Tim interrupts the oncoming lewd comment, and it isn’t lost on Jason the way Tim subtly bites his lip and shifts his legs. Jason thinks he might enjoy having that near-immediate effect on Tim a little too much. Not that Tim has ever complained, so it’s usually a win-win for all parties involved.

Jason raises his arms in mock surrender, prepares to retort, then is brought up short when Tim smooths both his hands back through his hair. The motion is graceful and enthralling, and manages to coif the perfect fall of dark strands back over the crown of Tim’s head.

67…

Tim blinks at himself, now the veritable image of an aristocrat, then turns to Jason with an expectant gaze. Unable to help himself, Jason reaches over to unfurl a small section of wispy hairs along the upper left side of Tim’s hairline and Tim jerks away with a frown. “Hey, what was that for?” He goes to move it back into place but stops when Jason catches his wrist.

“It looks better that way.” And it does. The change isn’t nearly enough to be called disheveled, but it gives Tim a more boyish, friendly quality that wasn’t present with the previous look. “We can’t have you looking too flawless. People will think you’re a robot.”

Tim eyes him with suspicion for a moment before humming and dropping his arm, Jason’s fingers slipping away from their grip now that the imminent destruction of his styling efforts is no longer a threat. Tim turns away to the door, but pauses with one hand on the doorframe to shoot a devastating grin Jason’s way.

“Flawless, huh?”

Jason is personally very grateful Tim opts to walk out before he can reply, because he’s highly embarrassed by his inability to stop the flush that lights up his ears.

53…

Jason haphazardly applies a couple dabs of cologne to his neck, before heading after Tim toward the bedroom. The scent is low key, a hint of heady tobacco in it that Tim has mentioned on multiple occasions gives Jason the impression of sophistication without seeming like he’s trying too hard. Jason wonders if maybe they’re not both just fondly bias towards it because it’s the scent he was wearing the first time they slept together. It’s the sense memory that always comes to Jason, at least.

His eyes fixate on the sudden sight of Tim in tight black briefs, the vision only able to eclipse his stare for a moment before Tim covers the enticing offering with crisp black slacks. Jason scowls inwardly at the tease. Tim has been timing Jason’s favorite moments just right all night; he’d clearly come prepared with a game plan to prevent Jason from sidetracking either of them while they got ready.

Jason wants to complain, and maybe apply a little good fun payback, but time seems to slow when Tim lifts his white dress shirt, and Jason soaks the picture in like he’ll never see it again. Tim is smaller than him, no question, but when the shirt swings around his body and settles onto his shoulders, Jason can’t help but see Tim’s back as broad. The short, concise jerk Tim makes to bring the cuffs of the sleeves to his wrists tightens the fabric over the man for a single moment that makes it appear Tim will rip the cloth in half. The way he can see the tense of hidden muscle, of biceps straining through when Tim’s arms raise to start buttoning, it forces Jason to recall how Tim is strong, stronger than most, that Tim is a man who can throw his weight around to great effect when he so desires. When Tim leans to the side to tuck the hem into his waistband, the motion demands that Jason remember how it feels to run his hands along taut abdominals, to grip at sweat-slick skin, pulling it against his own amidst the sting of salt running into his eyes from exertion and what feels like the pounding of someone else’s pulse inside his chest, syncing to his own.

45…31…

A quick swing of an arm and a faceful of fabric bring the world’s momentum back into focus, and Jason reacts just quickly enough to catch the pants that Tim has thrown at him before they hit the ground. “Start getting dressed, you peeping Tom.”

Jason scoffs, but does as told, though not without rebuttal. “First off, Tom is the name of a very stupid cat, so congrats to your parents on just missing out screwing you with that namesake.” Jason’s teeth show behind his lips when Tim lets out a surprised burst of laughter. Straightening and reaching for his own button-up, Jason continues, “And peeping requires that I hide the fact I’m watching you. Which I would never do.” His smile transforms to a heavy leer, as he adds, “You like it when I watch.”

Jason doesn’t get to pay attention to the reaction to his taunt because Tim has his collar popped up and Jason’s leer snaps straight to it when deceptively agile fingers slide a bow tie around Tim’s nape. Watching long-fingered hands wind the silky fabric into a perfect knot and bow is practically a battle in self-control for Jason, and his own suddenly thick fingers fumble over his buttons. Over and under, around, Jason can’t look away from Tim weaving him into a trance, knowing quite intimately what those talented fingertips are more than capable of.

19…

“You better hurry up, or I’m leaving you behind.” Tim already has his cummerbund hooked in place and tux jacket draped over his arm, while Jason is still in a muddled haze of memories and vivid imagination. The spell is broken when Tim leaves his line of sight, and he curses low to himself, hastening to finish dressing.

He yanks on the rest of his monkey suit, irritated when the bow tie angles itself to the left, but too impatient to be bothered fixing it. With one final once over in the mirror, he approves of himself and walks out the door to find Tim waiting for him in the apartment entryway, dressed and styled to perfection. The smile he gets when Tim sees him is worth every moment of stumbling through awkward social conversations and gossip for the rest of the night.

“You always do clean up good.”

8…

Tim gestures for Jason to come closer. “Let me…” Jason tips his chin up habitually as Tim’s hands take control of his bow tie and readjust it to sit perfectly in the center of his neckline. Tim smiles to himself and pats Jason’s chest. “Better.” Looking up, he asks, “Ready?”

Jason just needs one more thing.

Tim makes a happy noise when Jason dips down and presses their lips together in a firm, warm kiss, and his fingers curl into Jason’s jacket lapels to keep him bent for a few moments longer. When they pull apart, Jason watches Tim lick his lips, the young man’s eyes fluttering just enough that it looks like a picture of someone savoring a particularly delicious meal. Tim finally refocuses and Jason matches his grin.

“Ready.”

1.


End file.
